This St. Patrick’s Day, I’ve been searching my mental files for a memory fit to celebrate the Irish heritage that comes from my Dad’s side of the family. The only memory that keeps coming to mind has nothing to do with being Irish and everything to do with my Grampy.
I’ve been told that my Grampy was someone to fear back in the day when my Dad and his siblings were growing up. We certainly saw bits of his temper growing up ourselves. His short fuse shot by noisy grandkids, spilled milk, and just pure stubbornness.
But I also found him goofy and endearing. He had signature jokes like using a screwdriver to unscrew our legs from our belly buttons. He tilted his head back when he laughed, liked to sit in his arm chair with his legs crossed at his ankles while watching tv, and loved watching the birds from his kitchen window.
We were fortunate growing up that we never had babysitters. If our parents needed someone to watch us, we went to one of our grandparents’ houses.
That is how I came to be at my Nanny and Grampy’s house one snowy day when I was maybe five or six. My Grampy announced that he was going to the post office and asked if I’d like to come along.
Not thinking much of it, I agreed to go. We hopped into his off white car speckled with rust spots and rolled the two blocks to mail whatever my Grandfather thought important enough to take the trip in the snow.
When we pulled into the parking lot, I went to open the car door (I’m pretty sure I was sitting in the front seat) when my Grampy told me I had to stay in the car. I didn’t have snow boots.
This is where the moment became significant. I was a kid who had a lot of fears. I was deathly afraid of thunderstorms, the dark, burglars, and basically everything else imaginable. So as my Grampy left me in the car, despite my pleas and tears, without a second glance, I was petrified.
I remember the time that passed so slowly. I sat in the car watching the entrance of the post office for what felt like forever. I held my breath every time the door opened, praying it would be my Grampy.
At one point, an old woman appeared and stood in front of the building. I remember talking to her, as if she could hear me, begging her to watch over me.
I was so focused on that woman and my one sided conversation that I didn’t notice when my Grampy reappeared at the side of the car. He didn’t understand why I was so upset.
I’m sure that was the last errand I ever went on, just me and my Grampy.
Where There Is Joy 
I feel identified to you story. Sometimes we remember our relatives in both their good and not so good tempers, bit there are certain things that remain so fresh in our minds.
Thank you for sharing!
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Regarding your fears: I think maybe Grampy forgot what it was like to be a small child? I also find it heartwarming that even if he were – a curmudgeon, shall we say?- that you still saw, and still see, him through eyes of love.
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Amazing the detail with which you remembered and wrote this slice is impressive. Back then, leaving kids in cars was no big deal, right? I love the kind woman who stopped to chat and calm you. I felt the love of a grandaughter in this slice. Thanks for sharing!
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at least the old boy didn’t ask you to drive!!! love dad
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Was that your actual father commenting? I had a comment in my head and then I saw that comment and had to smile. It reminds me a phenomena that’s been happening lately to us, the four of us all remember some shared memory differently. It’s fascinating. Those memories stick with us, the fears and traumas of childhood.
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That is my dad… he’s a loyal reader. ❤️
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You have such great detail in something that happened so long ago. And of course love your loyal follower. My parents are too.
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Reading this, my heart felt for the little you. The fears of a child are very real fears even when it makes no sense to the adults.
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I love the way you describe a scene with details that tell so much in so few words. the line “and rolled the two blocks…” made me laugh out loud.
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I really like how you manipulate the tone of this slice. First, You warn us that Grampy was “someone to fear” but then you draw us into your childhood view of him. The details are great: the screwdriver joke is quite funny, and you were excited as you went on the errand with him. But the fear from the beginning is real, and there it is again. And the ending is perfect. Your understanding of him is much fuller – even if it took being left with your own fears to see it. Really great slice.
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Such a great view of your grandfather . . . he was definitely more than one way as you were!
Grandfather – someone to fear yet he took you on an errand
You – fearful, yet such a loyal and loving granddaughter!
🙂
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Your vivid details of your Grampy are well written. I could see him sitting in his arm chair with feet crossed at the ankles, much like my own father always sat. Love how another person’s writing can elicit a similar memory for the reader. Thanks for sharing!
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